


Bottle of Fortune

by SevereStorms, wreckingthefinite



Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Beefy!Bucky, Boys Kissing, Gay-Friendly Historical Brooklyn, Historical AU, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Mr. Rogers Gaybourhood, Not Canon Compliant, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Sexual Content, SkinnyStarvingArtist!Steve, Top!Bucky
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-23
Updated: 2016-04-30
Packaged: 2018-06-03 21:41:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6627601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SevereStorms/pseuds/SevereStorms, https://archiveofourown.org/users/wreckingthefinite/pseuds/wreckingthefinite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve Rogers is a not-quite-starving artist in 1940s Brooklyn, Bucky Barnes just might be in love with him, but when World War II intervenes, everything about their relationship changes forever.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This whole story is set in Brooklyn in the 1940s, and while society in general was hostile to anyone who wasn't cis/hetero, I really wanted to explore some of the queer-positive places that popped up back then, and tell a story about the ways these two crazy kids might've negotiated that environment to find acceptance in spite of everything. So this will be heavy on positivity and light on homophobia, because why not?

~1942~

“Is there anyone here who _doesn’t_ know the rules for Bottle of Fortune?” Conway “Connie” O’Hare yells into the crowd. A raucous roar of “No!” resounds inside the cozy basement bar, peppered with a few smart remarks and personal insults directed at Connie. He pats his short-cropped blonde hair and smooths down the front of his sequined gown. “Yeah, fuck all you motherfuckers too,” he says happily, sweeping across the makeshift stage – several planks resting atop a substructure of milk crates - and stepping carefully down into the crowded room. 

“Well, just in case you’re all a bunch of queers and queens and followers of Sappho and otherwise disreputable bohemian types who wouldn’t know a rule if it bit you in the ass, let’s just review, shall we? Every table gets a bottle.” He picks up an empty Piels bottle from the closest table and holds it up overhead. “Every person at the table takes a turn spinning the bottle. And wherever the bottle ends up pointing - with the skinny end, people, _not_ with its fat ass - that is the person you have to kiss. Kisses will be performed on _top_ of your tables for the world to see, and you each have one minute to complete your face-sucking before the next player gets their turn. Is that clear?” 

“Yes!” 

“All kisses must be on the lips. Your lips must be in contact for the full minute or your table will be disqualified. And even if you don’t get to lock lips with the degenerate of your choice,” he says, stopping to ruffle the hair of a lovely boy with dark olive skin, to clap a young woman in men’s work coveralls on the shoulder, “think of the rest of us, and make a spectacle of yourselves anyway. Everybody ready to begin?” 

There’s a murmur of excitement in the smoky, bustling room. Bucky looks around the table at his friends, all in uniform, like he is, all out for one last night on the town before shipping out the next day. Then he glances over his shoulder at Steve, who’s taken up residence on a barstool with a glass of tonic water, his sketchbook open in front of him, lost in a drawing of the bar and its bohemian clientele. 

“You sure you don’t want to play?” Bucky asks, leaning sideways to meet Steve’s gaze and distract him from his sketch. “Whichever table gets the most applause gets their tab covered for the night.” 

“Huh?” Steve asks, barely glancing up from his work. “Play what?” 

“Play Bottle of Fortune, ya dope. Like the big burly guy in the ballgown was just saying,” Bucky replies drily. “Jeez, remind me why I bring you anywhere, you don’t even pay attention.” 

“Oh. Sorry,” Steve says. “It’s not that I wasn’t paying attention, I just…” he shrugs, waving a hand at the room, then down at his sketchpad. “I get lost in what I’m doing, I guess.” 

“My friend the wallflower,” Bucky says fondly, chucking him under the chin. “One of these days you’re going to have to stop sitting in a corner and drawing the fun, and actually join in,” he adds, before turning back to the table. “I guess it’s just the five of us. Who wants to go first?” 

“I will,” says one of the other boys, and once Connie announces the first turn, he spins, ends up selecting the boy seated next to him, and they step carefully up onto the sturdy table. 

“One, two, three, KISS!” Connie flips over an egg timer as the first round begins. There’s a great deal of jeering and whooping as the various partners kiss, and Bucky watches, trying to commit the whole thing to memory, trying to take in as much of the vibrant, joyous scene as he can with all five senses. 

The bars closest to the Navy Yard are always the most fun, because they’re the least predictable. There are all sorts of people here tonight, men and women from all over the world and all walks of life, some queer, some straight, some neither, or a little of both. He’s heard there are places like this in Paris and Berlin, but here, he knows the ropes, knows where to go and whom he can trust. He knows how to be himself without getting in too much hot water for it. He knows almost everyone here, has been out with half of them, been in bed with less than half, but still a good healthy number.

The bottle works its way around the table. The fourth boy spins the bottle carefully, obviously trying to choose the boy sitting next to him – and succeeding. Bucky happens to know they’ve been sleeping together more or less exclusively for the past year, and he’s glad they both landed in the same regiment, so they can at least look out for each other. He tries not to think about what that would be like, going to war with your lover, if it would feel better or worse to have that person by your side, sharing the danger. 

The couple kisses passionately, getting handsy with each other and making the people nearest to their table laugh and yell with amusement. 

“Think that put us in the running,” the fourth boy says, breathing a little hard as he returns to his seat. “Don’t fuck it up, Barnes, it’s our game to lose.” 

“How many of us you kissed before, Barnes?” asks Mike Matranga, the first spinner. 

“A gentleman never tells,” Bucky says, grinning. 

“Yeah, but I’m asking _you,_ ” Matranga says. 

“I think what you’re really asking is if I’ll make sure it lands on you,” Bucky says. “And the answer is ‘hell, no.’” 

“Ah, you should be so lucky. Go ahead and spin it, jerk.” 

Bucky takes hold of the bottle and starts to turn it, but just as he does, a waitress carrying a tray of beers jostles his chair and he ends up sending the bottle skittering right to the edge of the table, spinning crazily, until it finally rolls off and onto the floor, winding to a halt before anyone can grab it. 

Bucky stands, ready to retrieve it, but Connie thunks a booted foot down on top of it. “No you don’t, soldier,” he says, wagging a finger in reprimand. “Where the bottle lands, it lands, and you’re to do what it commands.” He points in the direction the mouth of the bottle is facing, which is directly at Steve. 

“He’s not playing,” Bucky protests, standing and edging a little in front of Steve, as if he can somehow protect him from the bottle’s unwanted attention. “He’s not even sitting at our table.” 

“Are you forfeiting your turn?” Connie asks. “Because if you do, your table will be disqualified.” 

“Aw, come on, Rogers, get up here,” Matranga says, smacking his hand on the table. “It’s about time you put out, Barnes’s been squiring you around town for years.” 

“Shut up, Mike,” Bucky says, and he turns to Steve, holding up a hand. “You don’t have to, Steve. Don’t worry about it.” 

“It’s the patriotic thing to do,” one of the other boys pipes up helpfully. “C’mon, Stevie, just give him a little peck for luck.” 

“Or let Barnes give you a little pecker for luck,” mutters another, to more laughter. 

“Quit it, you assholes,” Bucky says mildly. “Steve ain’t doing anything he doesn’t want to, and I’ll slug anyone who says otherwise.” 

Steve blushes, but stands up, closing his sketchbook. “Okay,” he says. “I’ll do it.” 

“Aw, come on, Stevie, they’re just busting our balls. You didn’t even want to play. I’ll buy everyone’s drinks, you don’t have to do anything.” 

“We need everyone to take their places,” Connie says, yelling to be heard over the crowd. “Come on now boys and girls, chop-chop.” 

“It’s fine,” Steve says. “I don’t want to ruin everyone’s fun. Let’s go.” He steps over to the edge of the table. Bucky hesitates, but he recognizes the stubborn look on Steve’s face, the subtle squaring of his slim shoulders, and knows his mind is made up. 

“Alright, if you’re sure,” he says, taking Steve’s hand in his and helping him step up onto Bucky’s vacated chair, then onto the table. He steps up behind him, and they turn to face each other. 

Connie is saying something about this being the last matchup of the game, but Bucky suddenly finds it hard to pay attention. 

He and Steve have been friends forever, ever since Bucky had stepped in to stop Steve from getting beaten up by the Ardito brothers on the playground at PS 33 back in 6th grade. Steve had been a year behind Bucky at school, and at first, it had been a bit like having a kid brother. Their friendship had changed over the years, but there’d never been anything physical between them, no romance, not even a hint of it. Bucky’s not even sure that Steve’s queer – he’s never seen him out cruising in Prospect Park, never seen him out with anybody, and there’s something about Steve’s innate personal dignity that makes asking him about it difficult. 

Their relationship has never included kissing. 

Bucky’s always been cocky as hell, has kissed plenty of people, but now he feels uncharacteristically shy. Steve’s looking up at him, so trusting and innocent, and suddenly, it doesn’t really feel like a game, and Bucky isn’t sure how to approach it, kissing his best friend. He takes a step closer to Steve, tentatively puts a hand on his arm. Steve flinches and Bucky pulls it away again. Their eyes meet. 

Steve’s wearing his glasses, thick corrective lenses that make his eyes look like bright blue tropical fish swimming lazily inside twin bowls of water. They each take a step closer together. Steve is so _small,_ so slight, his head barely comes up to Bucky’s chin. 

On an impulse, he plucks the glasses from Steve’s face, folds them neatly, and slips them into his uniform’s breast pocket. Without them, Steve’s face looks oddly naked, like Bucky’s just removed a piece of clothing instead of a pair of specs.

“I need those, Buck,” Steve whispers. “You know I’m practically blind without them.” 

“I won’t let you fall off the table,” Bucky says distractedly. He isn’t sure – there’s no way he’s going to ask – but it occurs to him that this might be Steve’s first kiss. He thinks that’s a crying shame; it should be someone Steve adores, someone he’s head over heels for, not just his friend. But if it’s got to be Bucky, he supposes, he’d better make it good. 

“You sure about this?” he asks. The crowd is counting down from ten now, _nine, eight, seven…_

“Y-yes,” Steve says, sounding considerably less sure than he had mere moments before, now that they’re up on top of the table, the center of attention. 

“It’s okay,” Bucky says, taking his hand and squeezing it. “I got you, pal.” 

“One!” the crowd whoops as the couples all bend their heads together. Bucky slides an arm around Steve’s back, pulls him up flush to his chest, cups his face in his hand, tilts his head up and…

…kisses him. 

Their lips touch, and that’s all they do for the first several seconds, just freeze, mouth to mouth. Then there’s a subtle, physical shift; Steve pulls back into Bucky’s circling arm, and Bucky nudges his nose, leans forward to chase him, maintaining the contact. 

Kissing Steve is like biting into a ripe peach, soft and sweet, and it’s not half as awkward as Bucky had expected, holding Steve’s slender body like this, warm against his chest, his breath hot on Bucky’s cheek, the clean, familiar smell of him stronger, this close. He tastes good, the slight sharpness of lemon and tonic turned to sugar on his tongue, and Bucky suddenly wants to taste more of him, wants to just – slide his tongue against Steve’s lips - and _oh god_ his lips part and he _sucks_ on Bucky’s tongue, and a muffled groan comes from somewhere deep in his chest as he pulls Steve up hard against him, opening his mouth wider, Steve’s mouth opening in response. Bucky breathes in Steve’s whimpering sigh of pleasure, wraps both arms around him and bends him back a little, moaning softly as Steve arches his back and shoves his little body against Bucky’s bigger one. 

Steve’s hands slide through his hair, his arms twine around Bucky’s neck, and the kiss gets deeper, taking on a life of its own. Bucky can hear, vaguely, the sounds of the crowd, the shouts and catcalls and whistles, but he’s so completely focused on the place where his mouth is touching Steve’s, it all seems meaningless. 

Steve tilts his head, hands tightening on Bucky’s shoulders, and Bucky runs his hands lower, to the small of Steve’s back, then lower still. Steve’s closer to him than he’s ever been, and Bucky’s aware of him in a way he’s never been, aware of the heat of his skin through his clothes, of the feel of him, the softness of his mouth and the brush of their tongues together, and the whole thing is more intoxicating than anything he’s ever drunk, more delicious than anything he’s ever tasted. 

He’s kissing Steve, his _best friend,_ but it doesn’t feel like that, and it doesn’t feel like kissing his brother, either. It feels like…well, like _heaven,_ Steve’s small body so close, the sound of their breaths sharp and immediate, Steve’s heart pounding against his. 

He doesn’t even hear it when Connie calls time, doesn’t notice when his companions start tugging at the leg of his trousers, only manages to break the kiss when he feels Steve’s small hand in the center of his chest, pressing him gently away. 

He pulls back but doesn’t release Steve from his embrace, just stares down at him, at his wide eyes and kiss-swollen mouth, breathing like he’d just run up ten flights of stairs. Then he comes to his senses, drops his arms and steps back abruptly. 

“Sorry,” he says. “Sorry, Stevie. God, sorry. I didn’t – I didn’t mean to -” 

“No,” Steve says, “No, it’s okay. You – you’re really good at that.” He looks confused and flustered, a blush rising to his usually pale cheeks. 

“He oughtta be, he’s had enough practice!” someone shouts, to more laughter, but Bucky ignores it, plucks Steve’s glasses out of his pocket and unfolds them, setting them gently back in place with a smile. 

“So are you,” he whispers, and as he watches Steve blink his big blue eyes behind the lenses, Bucky wonders if maybe he’s the one who’s been blind, all this time. 


	2. Chapter 2

The trouble with Bucky, Steve thinks, is that he just has no idea of the effect he has on people. He hands Steve back down to earth, as if he hadn’t just whipped all of Steve’s emotions into a state of abject turmoil, seemingly unaffected by what had just happened.

Steve tries to go back to his sketches, but as soon as he picks up the sketchbook in his shaking hand, he knows it’s useless. He turns back to Bucky, tugs on his sleeve. “I’ve got to go,” he says. “I’m heading home.”

“Not by yourself, you’re not. Not from here.”

He meets Bucky’s eye, eyebrows lifted. “I’ve been on my own for years. It’ll be fine.”

“Sure it will,” Bucky says easily, polishing off the last of his beer. “Because I’m walking you.”

And so here he is, doing something he’s done countless times before, but never like this, never in silence. Never with Bucky walking quietly beside him, hands in his pockets, eyes on the ground. It’s upsetting, that silence, and Steve wishes he could break it, but he just can’t think of anything to say that doesn’t sound forced, or hollow, or just false, so he keeps his mouth shut until they get to his place.

“Thanks,” he says, turning to face Bucky at the foot of the stairs. “Guess this is it.”

“Guess it is,” Bucky says. He glances up, catches Steve’s eye. “Tell me something, Stevie?"

“Sure,” Steve says.

Bucky hesitates, biting his lip, looking away and then back again, shifting his feet. “Did you like it? At all? Or was it…” he trails off with a shrug, a hollow laugh. “So did you?”

It’s on the tip of Steve’s tongue to ask _Did I like what?_ But that would be disingenuous, cruel, and not worthy of either of them. “I don’t know,” he says instead, which is close to the truth. He’d liked it, he’d _loved_ it, he’d fantasized about it, he’d be living on it once Bucky was gone, but it will rip him in half, letting Bucky go. He wishes he’d just stayed home tonight, or that he’d kissed Bucky years ago, gotten it out of his system. He wishes Bucky didn’t have to go.

“You don’t _know?_ ” 

Steve speaks without thinking. “I don’t have anything to compare it to.”

Bucky's face darkens, and Steve feels a little thrill as his eyebrows draw together in a frown. "So what, you want to get a little more experience, that what you're saying?"

"Maybe," Steve says lightly.

"With who?"

Steve pauses, thinking. Honestly, he can't think of anyone else he actually wants to kiss, and Bucky looks so…what, exactly? Almost angry? His eyes drop to Bucky's lips, and he remembers how they felt, soft and firm and warm against his. "I dunno," he mutters. “Guess I’ll have to find someone, though.”

Bucky steps forward, takes hold of Steve's hand. “You don’t know,” he repeats. 

“Yeah, I don’t…” Steve just can’t continue, not when Bucky’s standing so close, not when he looks like this, so stern and serious, his hand sliding up to grip Steve’s elbow. “I…don’t,” he concludes, lamely.

Bucky’s grip on his elbow tightens, and Steve struggles against his hold, but it’s obvious that unless Bucky wants to let him go, Steve is going nowhere. He gives up suddenly, and staggers a little as he’s pulled off balance. Bucky catches him, Steve looks up into his face, and there it is again, that magnetic pull, a force as ineluctable as gravity. Before he even knows what’s happening, Bucky’s kissing him again, right there on the stairs, where anyone could see. He tries to pull away, but Bucky backs him up against the brick wall of the building and kisses him again and again, harder and more insistent, until Steve finally gives into it, opening his lips under Bucky’s, letting his mouth go soft and willing, letting himself be tempted again, even though he’s sure to get hurt in the end.

“Why you gotta make everything so damn hard?” Bucky whispers against Steve’s lips, as they pull apart. 

“Why d’you always think everything’s so easy?” Steve asks, breathing fast and shallow. “You’re my best friend, Buck, and now…I don’t know. Isn’t it bad enough I’ve gotta stay home and worry about my best friend getting blown up or shot? Now…this, this –whatever it is?” he shakes his head, pushing on Bucky’s chest, but Bucky still doesn’t let go. “Lemme go, Buck." But he doesn't mean it. He doesn't want Bucky to let him go.

“So now you got something to compare it to,” Bucky says, ignoring him. “You like it?”

Steve squirms against his grip, but the thing is, he doesn’t actually want to get away, not really. Something about the way Bucky’s looking at him, his expression so intense, face a little flushed, the way his chest is moving under the green wool of his uniform, the way he’s holding onto to Steve’s arm so tightly, is actually pleasurable. “ _You_ like it?” Steve asks defiantly.

Bucky doesn’t answer right away; instead, he catches Steve’s hand in his, slides it down his chest to his belly, then lower, until Steve can feel him, hard and hot, just beneath the wool fabric of his uniform. “Yeah,” he says hoarsely. “I fucking like it.”

Steve just stands there, frozen, his hand pressed to Bucky’s cock, floored by his perfect, filthy honesty. He finally manages to gasp out, “I like it, too.” 

Bucky’s hold on him goes gentle all of a sudden, and he tips Steve’s chin up, kisses him softly on the lips, then the cheek; he smells, not unpleasantly, of beer, and Steve leans forward, catching his mouth again before he pulls away. “Was that so hard?”

Steve can’t make himself answer, can hardly meet Bucky’s eyes, he’s too turned on, too embarrassed, too everything. “Buck,” he says, struggling weakly, but he’s pinned there, and it’s making him breathless. “Inside,” he says, and Bucky’s eyes go dark, but he reaches into Steve’s coat pocket for the key, and lets them into the little apartment. As soon as the door closes behind them, Bucky pulls him close, burying his face close against Steve’s neck, breath tickling his skin. 

Steve is aroused and terrified in equal parts, heart pounding, breath catching painfully in his throat. He knows he wants Bucky, he can feel it in the ache between his legs, the soft, sore yearning of his heart, but he doesn’t really know what it means, wanting him, doesn’t quite know what they’ll do. He’s imagined kissing Bucky’s soft mouth, lying naked with him somewhere, being held in his strong arms. He’s heard about the things some boys do in the Victorian garden in Prospect Park, but the thought of Bucky’s mouth in his cock is almost too much to handle; he can’t begin to fathom what else they might do to one another. He thinks it might hurt; thinks he might _want_ it to hurt, a little. 

Bucky’s hands are gentle on his hips, pulling their bodies intimately close, Bucky’s hard cock rubbing up against his belly, and Steve gasps hotly, hands on Bucky’s shoulders.

“Bucky,” he whispers, pushing into him and closing his eyes. “Jesus Christ, Buck.”

Bucky’s being so gentle, his hands soft on Steve’s back, cupping his ass, his lips soft on Steve’s neck, and Steve pulls him closer, wanting more, wanting the roughness of Bucky’s grip on his arm, wanting the anger and force he’d seen just now, on the porch. 

“Shh,” Bucky says. “We’ve got time, there’s no rush,” and Steve suddenly feels so frustrated a lump rises in his throat. It’s not that he’s in a hurry; he’s turned on, sure, but that’s not a problem. A soft whine escapes his throat as he nudges his hips against Bucky’s thigh, needing the friction, needing _more_ of this, needing Bucky to take control of the situation

“Bucky,” he whines, arching his body against Bucky’s, hands clenching into fists in the fabric of his coat. “Please.”

Bucky kisses him again, soft and deep, and Steve kisses him back hard, biting his lip, sucking at it eagerly, and he feels Bucky’s control slip, just for an instant – his grip on Steve’s ass tightens, fingers digging in, and he groans, kissing him harder, and _yes_ that’s what Steve wants, that’s it _exactly,_ but then Bucky pulls back, panting, holding Steve at arms length.

“Gotta be careful,” he says. “Don’t want to hurt you, baby.”

 _Baby._ Steve’s heart flutters. “You won’t,” he says, “I won’t break, you know that.” 

“I know,” but he’s being gentle again, unbuttoning Steve’s shirt and pushing it off his shoulders instead of ripping it off, slow-walking him backwards to the wall instead of slamming him into it, dropping to his knees in front of Steve instead of pushing him down, hands gripping his hair.

He forgets his frustration as soon as Bucky wraps his lips around his dick. “ _Buck,_ ” he gasps, “Oh – oh _god,_ I…” he nearly doubles over, hands on Bucky’s broad shoulders, small muscles in his legs and arms trembling. His hips jerk involuntarily each time Bucky slides home, nose bumping his lower belly, tongue slick and firm on the underside of his cock. Bucky moans, taking him deep, tightening his mouth and sliding back out again, and Steve sees stars; even though Bucky’s on his knees he’s got all the power here, his hands firm on Steve’s ass, pulling him apart and slipping one exploratory finger down to his – “Oh, _oh,_ what’re you – oh _shit,_ ” – down to his tight little hole, circling him, pressing into him very slightly, and that’s it, Steve’s knees wobble and give out altogether. 

Bucky pops off of him as Steve slumps down the wall, guiding him down to the floor, kissing his mouth, kissing his throat and his nipples and his belly and then the tip of his hot, aching cock before taking him down again and again, setting a steady rhythm. It’s not like anything Steve’s ever felt or even imagined, the pleasure so sharp and immediate he doesn’t even understand his own physical reactions. He starts to come and holds his breath, trying to stop the surging pleasure, because he doesn’t want it to be over yet, not _yet,_ he wants to feel everything, remember the velvet heat of Bucky’s mouth, the way his every nerve thrills when Bucky takes him deep into his throat and swallows with a click that makes Steve’s hips buck and his cock twitch hard against Bucky’s parted teeth.

He’s incoherent now, making noises that would embarrass him in any other circumstances, guttural groans and a soft chant of, “ _oh_ –oh – _oh,_ ” tangling his fingers in Bucky’s hair, pulling a little, until Bucky catches both his hands in his and pins them by his sides, hard, holding him down, making him endure the soft torture of his mouth, and this is what finally takes Steve’s breath away, what makes him start to shake; Bucky’s hands holding him down tight, Bucky’s mouth a soft, wet hell of sweetness tugging him into senseless, whimpering elation. 

“Bucky – Buck, oh _god,_ oh god oh god oh _god_ _oh god_ Buck,” he mutters under his breath as he feels his body start to unwind, unravel, come apart at the seams and burst inside Bucky’s glorious, sucking mouth. Bucky hums around him, still working even though Steve knows he’s going off like a rocket. He can feel himself twitching and spurting, his thighs are shaking, his fingernails digging into the floorboards, his wrists still clenched in Bucky’s hands. He hears himself as if from a great distance, crying out a high and urgent “ _Oh, oh, oh!_ ” as he comes and comes and comes, comes so hard he bangs his head back on the floor and arches into the aching sweetness. 

He’s still shaking, eyes still squeezed shut and seeing pulsing red waves, when he hears Bucky spit, feels his come-slick hand between his legs, and hears a zipper come undone. He opens his eyes, watches as Bucky slides his cock between his legs, holding himself up on stiff, straight arms.

“No,” he says vaguely, reaching up to touch Bucky’s chest, still clad in his uniform jacket. “Want to see you, Buck. Please?”

Bucky smiles down at him. “So demanding,” he says, but he rolls up to sit on his heels. Steve tries to spread his legs to accommodate him, but he can’t; his pants are shoved down to his thighs, so he kicks his legs free and lies there, naked, watching as Bucky strips off his jacket and shirt.

And god, he’s _so_ lovely, lean and strong and masculine, broad shouldered, his waist thick with muscle. His boyish slimness lingers in his long, lean legs and narrow hips, but Basic Training has filled him out in all kinds of heavenly ways, and Steve can’t stop looking at him, drinking him in. He shoves his trousers the rest of the way off and Steve stares at his flushed, gleaming cock, heavy and solid between his legs. 

“Not gonna hurt you,” Bucky whispers. “We can just do it like this.” He lowers himself down on top of Steve again, his big, warm body covering Steve’s, and Steve is tempted to let him do what he’s proposing, just slide into the tight space between his legs, if it means having him this close, his weight resting half on Steve, half on his elbows, Steve’s spent cock stirring a little at the brush of Bucky’s flat belly.

“Wait,” Steve says, pushing his hand flat against Bucky’s chest. He sits up, and Bucky leans back, perplexed.

“What’s the matter, baby?” Bucky asks, and Steve loves this, just loves it, this new pet name, the strange new intimacy between them. He lays a palm on Bucky’s warm, strong chest, pushing him back, and Bucky lets himself be pushed, bemused. Steve lowers his head between Bucky’s legs and touches him with trembling hands, finding the silky skin there, the pulsing heat, and putting his mouth on him.

Bucky sucks air between his teeth with a hiss, lets it out with a barely stifled groan, one hand alighting on Steve’s head, a gentle benediction. “Yes, good, that’s so good, Stevie, yes,” he says, and Steve swallows him down deep, tonguing into the slit as he pulls back, wrapping his forefinger and thumb around the base of Bucky’s cock to hold him steady as he works. He starts moving rhythmically, then pauses, deliberately going too slow, to Bucky’s obvious frustration.

“Honey,” Bucky grits out, his other hand on Steve’s head now, hips held determinedly down, not pumping into Steve’s mouth like he obviously wants to. Steve stays where he is and hums a “Hmmm?” around Bucky’s cock, which makes him gasp. 

“ _Jesus,_ baby, you gotta – could you go a little faster?"

Steve bobs, down and up once, stops again, waits, then does it again, just shallowly, loosening his lips, knowing how unsatisfying it must be. 

“Baby,” Bucky says again, and _oh god yes,_ his fingers tighten in Steve’s hair, his arms go rigid, and his hips start to flex. Steve moans encouragingly, and finally, _finally,_ Bucky grips him so tightly he pulls his hair, forcing his head down, pulling him up, hips moving steadily, fucking Steve’s mouth with wracking moans of pleasure. 

“This what you wanted?” he asks unsteadily. “This what you wanted, baby? You like it like this? You want it a little rough?” He shoves deep into Steve’s throat, once, twice, and Steve almost gags, but manages to keep it together. Suddenly Bucky pulls him off, shoves him backward and rolls him over, pulling him up by his hipbones and ramming his cock, slick and hot, between his legs. Steve lets out a harsh, guttural cry of joy as Bucky’s hand clamps around his neck, keeping his head down, face pressed into the floor, and nudges against his entrance. It hurts, but it's a delicious kind of hurting, just enough, and Steve's mouth opens, hot with his hard breaths. 

“Inside me, Buck,” he begs, desperate. 

“No way,” Bucky says. “Not tonight, sweetheart, not this time.” 

_Not this time,_ which implies that there will be more times. But the little surge of hope this remark causes dies almost instantly; there might never be another time.

“Bucky,” he groans. “ _Please_.”

“Nuh-uh,” Bucky says, but the tip of his dick teases Steve’s hole, just nudging his entrance as he thrusts between Steve’s legs. “God you’re so sweet, babydoll, so goddamn sweet and – and good,” he stutters, and Steve can feel him tighten, start to go over the edge. “That’s it, honey, keep your legs tight, that’s so good, _so_ good, oh - _oh_ \- ” 

It’s not everything Steve had wanted, but it’s still wonderful, feeling the hot dampness of Bucky’s release between his legs, feeling his whole body shake and go weak with the force of his orgasm. He half-collapses on Steve’s prone back, and his hands are gentle again, turning Steve over, pulling him close, kissing his hair and his face and his mouth. The gentleness isn’t unwelcome now, after the little bit of roughness. It feels right, now.

“You okay?” Bucky asks, after a little while. 

“’Course I am,” Steve answers, stroking Bucky’s chest and snuggling closer. 

“Didn’t even make it into bed. Not much of a first time. I’m sorry, baby." 

Steve just holds him tight, not caring that they're both starting to get goosebumps, that the cold floor is uncomfortable. "I'm gonna miss you like crazy," he says. 

**Author's Note:**

> So, like, a gajillion years ago, [Glide-Thru](http://glide-thru.tumblr.com/) asked me for SkinnyStarvingArtist!Steve and Beefy!TopDom!Bucky and I messed around with several variations of this story, but this one finally won out. 
> 
> Since I wrote these two chapters, I've discovered the joy of collaborating (with wreckingthefinite, go read all her stuff right now) and I'm not really motivated to write solo anymore - so this fic is on indefinite hiatus. 
> 
> I usually do stuff in a completely different kink, but sometimes fandom can transcend that, right? So come visit me on [my Tumblr](http://d-lightfulexcess.tumblr.com/).


End file.
